


Spoiled

by gumpekulla



Series: Snapshots [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dating, F/M, Female Mycroft, Fluff, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 20:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8859427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gumpekulla/pseuds/gumpekulla
Summary: Myrtice has been away for several weeks, and surprises Sherlock with a night of indulgence.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Can't seem to get inspired to write and epilouge to the chaptered story. Instead, have some mindless fluff! :)

o0o

Sherlock had spent his entire life being indulged, though he would vehemently deny it. Well, Myrtice conceded, indulged by  _ her.  _ The rest of the world had been less forgiving, but then again, they were idiots. It was what was expected, she knew. However, Sherlock was and would forever remain her weakness in almost all regards. The unbearable fondness he provoked in her, and the almost compulsive need she had for looking after him in any way she could. It translated badly, sometimes, and at moments she couldn’t help but resent the sentiment he caused in her. Other times, she merely accepted it and allowed herself to enjoy the rewards of letting Sherlock have his way.

Such as today.

She dropped by 221B an hour after calling him to warn him of the change she had made to his evening’s plans. John was home with Mary and their daughter, and the most Myrtice’s brother had planned to occupy himself with without a case was a rerun of that dreadful show of his, or finally doing something about the fungus growing in the upper-left of his kitchen cupboards. As far as he knew, she had still been in Switzerland before she called to inform him otherwise. A pleasant surprise to start with, she had mused after hearing his smile through the phone as he playfully demanded they skip dinner for dessert. She’d chided him, as was expected, and told him to suit up.

Now he opened the door to 221B before she even got out of the car, and scoffed at the black town car she’d arrived in. Their driver for the night required no theatrics, but woe the day Sherlock would be anything but dramatic and flamboyant in his deceptions. As such, he was as prickly as one would expect of him, though ever since his return he had slowly worked to soften his edges and gentle the way he handled her in the public eye. It was obvious, what he was doing, but she let it be.

“Back from plotting the overthrow of murderous dictators, dear sister?” he quipped as he slid into the backseat next to her. It wasn’t until he had closed the door and buckled himself in that he allowed himself to look at her. She could tell he startled, for he froze and narrowed his eyes, taking her in from top to toe twice.

“Bare legs, in public?” he murmured, approval clear in his eyes. “Scandalous, Myrtice.”

She smiled at him, indulgent, and he read it for what it was: entirely for him. An excited shiver claimed him as he realized, lips parting slightly in a satisfied sigh.

“You’ve been very good, brother mine,” she said, well aware of the tinted windows and the solid partition separating them from the driver, allowing for privacy. And so, she reached over to cup his cheek, drawing him down for a soft, lazy kiss. Good boys get treats, after all. Or that’s the excuse she’ll give if he questions her burst of generosity tonight, at least.

o0o

They settled down at a table provided by Angelo, who kissed Myrtice’s hand and jokingly wished bigamy was legal, to which Sherlock snorted. The man was quite enamoured with his wife, just quite friendly and boisterously charming. Sherlock was fond of both the owner and the food, though Myrtice often allowed people to believe she would look down on this kind of establishment. They had been here a handful of times before, yet Sherlock appeared as delighted as ever whenever she took him here. No doubt gloating that she liked it, something he had found. A small and harmless victory she didn’t mind him to have.

“The usual,  _ fragolina?”  _ Angelo asked her once they were settled, and she nodded her thanks and agreement, finding herself quite hungry. Sherlock had a lasagnette, though she doubted he would be content with just his own food. No doubt would some of her mushrooms go missing.

They kept the meal simple. A bottle of red wine to share, sat next to each other rather than opposite, leaning close to facilitate speaking. For that was what they did, out. Talk, discuss and debate. Argue, often, but never enough to ruin the evening. Just enough to create an air of easy sibling interaction. Familial intimacy in everything but the words between the lines, the feet brushing under the table. The thoughts in their heads.

By the end of the meal, she decided she had better move on to the next indulgence.

“I spoil you rotten,” she said after taping a sip of wine. Sherlock’s attention perked, delight in his eyes as he anticipated a verbal spar. “I really shouldn’t, in public. They might find excuses for your rudeness, and blame me, though I have little to do with your lack of respect for common decency. The public should pity me, instead, for the horrible influence you have on me. The things you make me do, honestly.”

“Like what, legwork?” he sneered, sneaking a hand under the table and it’s checkered cloth, finding her bare knee. Stroking upwards, he bunched up her skirt of her dress until his hand rested curved atop her naked skin, fingertips teasing the inner thigh. “Exercise is good for you, dear sister. Hardly what people would consider a bad influence on someone as  _ sturdy  _ as you.”

He squeezed her thigh and she parted her legs in response, taking him by surprise. She raised a brow in challenge, taking another sip of wine. They had finished their meals, now simply conversing as they emptied their bottle of red.

“I exercise plenty enough,” she sniffed, thinking with displeasure on the necessary evil which was her treadmill and pilates DVDs. Had it been only vanity, she might have disregarded it despite the unseemly weight she stood to gain on her diet of stress and sweets. As it were, the doctors had issued their orders, and unlike her little brother she had no wish to meet a premature end anytime soon. She was content to let her brother believe her completely, stupidly vain, though he was smart enough to realize health was another reason. He just didn’t need to know to what extent.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d never leave your office on anything but business,” he scoffed, answering her challenge by tracing his hand further up her dress and thigh. “You’re an isolated megalomaniac who’s all work and no play.”

She smirked in reply, watching his mocking smile falter as his hand encountered the damp heat between her legs, sans knickers. What he made her do, indeed. Behaving like a naughty schoolgirl straight out of a male fantasy, how dull and undignified of her. No doubt it was the sentiment of the latter which caused her little brother to flush, and quickly remove his hand, putting distance between himself and temptation. Debauchery had always appealed to him, messing up the pristine. Messing  _ her  _ up.

“I play, just not always with you,” she drawled, true in some sense, at least in the past. By the dark look sent her way, Sherlock clearly hadn’t deleted that from the harddrive of his brain. Jealousy suited him, which frustrated her endlessly. Even in a petulant strop, she mused, he found some annoying way of endearing himself to her, no matter the icy burn of anger he could provoke.

“You’re just afraid to lose,” he sneered. “You always do, during  _ Operation,  _ playing doctor. Your hands are never steady enough, I make your nerves rattle, sister mine.”

She’s amused at how flustered he was getting, eyes struggling to stay on her face and not stray downwards. He was no doubt annoyed at not having noticed the lack of pantylines disrupting her snug dress, distracted as he was by her bare legs.

“Oh you try my nerves alright, Sherlock. But I suppose that is what little brothers do,” she shrugged, nonchalantly. Her flippancy annoyed him, making him scowl.

“We’re leaving,” he growled, signalling for Angelo to convey their departure. They always dined for free, though Myrtice always made sure to pay him back subtly by leaving generous tips whenever she could. Calmly, she waved at the man, who beamed at them, stuck as he was seating an older couple on the other side of the restaurant.

“No need to rush,” she chided him, watching him with an amused smirk as he stood impatiently waiting for her to get up and go with him. She rose slowly, brushing her hands down the skirt of her dress to right it, smoothing the wrinkles from his abuse.

His eyes burned into her.

“Good things come to those who wait,” she murmured as she walked up to him, hooking an arm through his and allowing him to tug her outside, towards the car that had conveniently arrived just minutes ago (her dear brother was so predictable, she had little problem in anticipating their departure).

“I’ve waited" he insisted heatedly, his intense stare speaking of their weeks apart. By the time they were back in the car, they were both flustered from what they could read off of the other.

She had much more to give yet, the night young. By tomorrow, he’d be  _ thoroughly  _ spoiled.

o0o

It was rare, even with John no longer living in the flat, for Myrtice to spend the night. She preferred having Sherlock over in her own space, where there were less nosy landladies and randomly appearing guests ( _ friends,  _ like John, Lestrade or Doctor Hooper, or  _ clients).  _ Last night, however, she had caved to the persuasive hands pulling her into a solid, warm chest and burying her beneath messy sheets and long limbs.

She had woken to playful kisses along her back, all the way down to her arse, and enjoyed an impertinent tongue probing between her legs. She had moaned, and he’d taken her slowly from behind, a lazy wake-up call. After, she had insisted on breakfast, as always. She’d had to pry his mouth off her neck, snickering at how he’d insisted he could eat his fill right there, if she’d just stay put. Eventually, she’d made him put on his robe, while she’d regretfully stepped into last night’s clothes. In the light of day, her black dress and bare legs looked even more indecent. It was a mockery of her usually prim, proper and mostly decorous fashion, and Sherlock’s hands became even harder to keep in check. Cheeky sod.

“I can stay for another few hours, but I will have to leave eventually,” she cautioned him, having managed to compromise by sitting on the couch with his head in her lap, carding fingers through his endearing curls. He was close to purring in contentment, though her words made him pout.

“Don’t stop then,” he commanded, pushing into her hands. She had no intention to deny him, enjoying the silk of his hair and the warm weight of his head in her lap. She counted fifteen minutes before her little brother fell victim to a full dinner, breakfast and a night and morning of very satisfying sex. She watched him snuffle in his sleep, smiling fondly, before reaching for her phone on the armrest next to her. Work would be much more enjoyable with her very own stray cat curled up on her lap.

Time flew, though she remained as aware of its passing as always. Fiftythree minutes after Sherlock fell asleep, the door downstairs opened. Mrs. Hudson had left for an impromptu visit to her latest paramour while they had been away for dinner, and both Sherlock and Myrtice didn’t expect her to be back until after lunch, which was hours from now. The rhythm of the steps up the stairs gave it away.  _ John,  _ she thought and for a moment, she contemplated waking her little brother to put a more respectable distance between them. Only for a moment, though, before she dismissed it.  _ Let’s see how well your efforts have paid off, brother dear. Has you change in our public interactions made a difference? Will he balk, or take it in stride? _

A few moments later, the door to the flat opened and John strode through, looking ready to call out for his friend. The sight of him asleep in his older sister’s lap stopped him dead.

“Hello, John,” Myrtice greeted him, smiling politely and watching him eye her hand in Sherlock’s hair.

“Err, hum, hi, Myrtice,” he stuttered, flustered, before he shook himself out of it with his usual aplomb. “Finally passed out, huh? He’s been a nightmare for  _ weeks.  _ I think I’ve gotten more sleep, and I’ve got a two-month old baby at home.”

“I can image,” she replied dryly, knowing full well the extent of Sherlock’s many different strops. Sexually frustrated and pining for three weeks would have surely wreaked havoc on anyone unfortunate enough to be in his splash zone. “He is not so bad off now that we can’t wake him, however.”

John shook his head, having made his way over to his old armchair. “Nah, we’re good. Let him wake up in his own time, I can wait.”

Myrtice smiled, more genuine this time, before stifling a sigh of regret and shrugging instead. “That’s very kind of you, Doctor, but I’m afraid I have to take my leave. I shall need my lap free to do so.”

Looking away from John, she focused on Sherlock, his face buried in her stomach. Gently, she tugged at his hair with the hand still buried in it. “Wake up, little brother. You’ve inconvenienced be enough for today, my short visit is over.”

He groaned in reply, rolling over to lie on his back and blink blearily up at her. He could tell by her words, and the fact that she hadn’t leaned down for a kiss yet, that they weren’t alone. It took him a moment to deduce who might have joined them. “Hello John. Do we have a case?”

“Nah, mate, just checking in with you.”

Sherlock cut his gaze to the side, taking him in, and snorted. “Well, mission accomplished. Alive and breathing, you may leave.”

“Actually, I am the one who will be taking their leave,” Myrtice interrupted, causing Sherlock to glare up at her in annoyed disappointment. “As soon as you let me up, I’ll be leaving you boys to it.”

“Weren’t you in away somewhere? Just got back, huh,” John commented as Sherlock reluctantly sat up to allow her to stand.

“Yes, quite,” she agreed with a bland smile, brushing away wrinkles from her dress, and slowing down as she absentmindedly caressed her hips for Sherlock’s benefit. He knew all too well that she still had no pants under there, something she was finding more uncomfortable in the light of day. The dark, half-lidded stare she got from her brother made up for it.

“Good day, John. Oh, and do try and take care of yourself, brother dear. I would hate to drop in and wrangle you again, you are not three years old anymore,” she said, chiding him teasingly and waving absentmindedly to John, who was observing them with amused confusion. He nodded his good bye as Sherlock merely huffed, rolling his eyes, and flopping back down on the couch.

“Good  _ bye,  _ Myrtice!” Sherlock drawled, fondly exasperated. John let it slip without blinking an eye, a sign Sherlock was indeed making progress. Perhaps, soon, she could pull him into a hug without anyone keeling over.

She had no doubt Sherlock would achieve it, if only for the reason that he would accept nothing less, after putting his mind to it.

Spoiled, loveable boy.

o0o

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! A comment would make my day :)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://gumpekulla.tumblr.com)!


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